


just a foot away (only a few steps to you)

by porcelainanimals



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Organ Transplantation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-21
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 01:11:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1012239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/porcelainanimals/pseuds/porcelainanimals
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When he sees that frail body lying in a hospital bed and reluctantly signs the organ release forms, he doesn't expect to fall in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. breathing in

**Author's Note:**

> I'm kind of a sucker for prompts that tug at my heartstrings. This will be 2 chapters long, 3 at the most!
> 
> \---
> 
> Fill from the SnK kink meme: 2848.html?thread=4508960
> 
> "Armin needs a new heart and ends up having Marco's. He finds that out and feels like he needs to thank the person who signed the permission to share Marco's organs after he died. Jean of course doesn't want to have anything to do with Armin at first but then can't get him out of his head anymore and keeps on trying to contact him. When they do, they slowly fall in love but the memories of Marco won't let Jean really get into a serious relationship even though he wants to. Armin tries to change his mind."

Armin's eyes flutter open slowly, laboriously, and he inhales. Exhales. The room is blurry, filled with dull and dark shapes. All he can hear is the constant beeping in the background and the loud, steady thump of his heartbeat. 

"Armin?"

The voice is distant, slightly familiar, and he groans softly, opening his mouth to reply but it's dry and uncomfortable. He closes it as he feels a cool hand brush back his bangs, soothing and gentle, and he makes a soft whimper. There's muffled laughter, something that sounds like crying and when his vision clears, he can make out his childhood friends leaning over his bed, weary smiles on their faces.

"Good morning," he finally croaks and the last time he saw Mikasa with tears in her eyes, they had been in grade school and Eren had fallen out of a tree. "The surgery went well?"

"Yeah, everything's fine," the brunette cut in, tentatively laying a hand over Armin's heart as if he's afraid of breaking him. "You're gonna be okay now."

He's tired, so terribly so, and he lets his eyes fall shut. There's time to talk later. There's time now.

\---

As a child, Armin had been terrified of dying. He had watched from the living room as a police car pulled into the driveway and an officer spoke in low tones to his grandfather. He had been shooed upstairs with a glass of milk and a plate of cookies, and had promptly forgotten about the ordeal until his grandfather sat him down and told him that his parents would not be coming home that night. He then watched as his only living relative withered away slowly in a hospital bed, voice so weak he could barely whisper his name. And then, when he started noticing sharp chest pains and finally collapsed after a long day at the library, he was told he only had a month to live.

"There's got to be something you can do," he had begged, desperately fighting back tears. There's still so much more to do, so much he hasn't done. He's only barely reached his twenties. He still hasn't discovered the cure for cancer, had his first kiss, or gotten his own apartment yet. 

"There is one way," the man replied cautiously and Armin had jumped at the opportunity. The list was long, he had been told, his chances slim, but it was better than nothing. He's always been an optimist.

\---

Armin places his hand over his chest, relishing the strong beating underneath his chest and he sighs as he fidgets on an unfamiliar doorstep, a large bouquet clutched in his hand. What is he even going to say or do? It had been an impulse move - and probably unethical, now that he thought about it - to track down his donor's family, but he had wanted so badly to thank them for giving him back his life. Finally, after a pause, he raises his hand to knock when -

"Can I help you?" There's a tall brunette standing behind him, a bag of groceries in his arm and Armin flushes, jumping. 

"I..." The words have escaped him and he doesn't know what to do, so he holds out the bouquet nervously. Some of the flowers have since wilted, but they're still nice. He hopes. "I just... Wanted to give you these."

And before the stranger, Jean Kirstein if his records are accurate, can even react, the blond shoves them into his arms and makes a run for it, cheeks red as he slips into the elevator. When he's about to get into his car, he hesitates as he stares up to the seventh floor and wonders if this was a good idea. His heart is racing.

\---

It's a week before they bump into each other again. Armin's discovered that they frequent the same supermarket but he's always hidden nervously behind displays when he spots the taller brunette. He's double checking his shopping list when a sharp crash gets his attention.

"It's you," Jean blurts out as their carts collide and the shorter male feels like he's about to die of embarrassment. "I... Thank you for the flowers?"

"You're welcome," he responds breathlessly, smiling shyly as he tries to hide behind a box of whole-wheat linguini and the other holds out his hand.

"I'm Jean. And you are?"

"Armin. It's nice to meet you. Er, Armin Arlert." Armin replies, shaking his hand briefly and the blood drains from the other's face as he begins to fiddle with a silver ring on his left hand. Jean manages a weak smile.

"Y-yeah. Er, listen, I have to go." He jerks his head toward the front and Armin watches silently as he checks out, biting his lower lip. Did he mess up? His heart aches as he heads up the dairy aisle and he wonders how exactly he had managed to talk himself into this mess. 

\---

He doesn't expect to see Jean again, not after the supermarket fiasco, but he's at Connie and Sasha's wedding in a simple black suit and a blue tie that reminds him of the ocean. They're seated next to each other at the reception and it's awkward, terribly awkward, and he's all alone. Eren is best man, stationed by the DJ, and Mikasa is on the other side of the ballroom with Annie. He sighs as dinner is served, picking listlessly at the herb-roasted chicken, until he finally lets his fork clatter to the plate and turns around.

"I'm sorry," he whispers hoarsely, hands clutching his napkin tightly. "I'm really, really sorry."

Jean swallows and looks away. "It's... It's fine. I guess I just wasn't expecting you. Sorry."

"For what?"

The brunette exhales loudly, taking a swig of champagne. "I don't know. For running away."

"I don't blame you," Armin murmurs softly and Jean laughs humorlessly before returning to his food. The tension eases up somewhat, and as the second course is served (Sasha had excitedly exclaimed that there would be seven courses throughout the night), they slowly fall into a more comfortable conversation. They exchange numbers at the end of the meal, Armin smiling shyly as he saves the contact information.

"So," Jean begins awkwardly, tilting his head toward the center, where Connie and Sasha are doing a weird tango-hip-hop remix and their parents look on in confused horror. "What do you say we get out of here? Can I get you a drink?"

\---

Sometimes, Jean talks about Marco and Armin listens quietly as he sips his tea, reaching over to hold his hand when his voice cracks a little. 

Jean had just proposed not even a month ago. They were going to have a small ceremony at his parents' ranch. It had been a faulty brake that had taken everything away from him, just a split second before everything had gone wrong and he found himself screaming for an ambulance, Marco's body in his arms. Armin's chin quivers and he tightens his grip as Jean's voice trails off. 

"Sorry," he whispers. "I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't be. It's not your fault he's gone."

But Armin can't help feeling that yes, it _is_ his fault, and he wonders if Jean blames him, just a little bit. It hurts more than he'd ever imagined and he clutches at his chest with his free hand, missing the worried expression that flits over his companion's face.

"You okay? Your..."

"I'm fine." Armin smiles and he lets out a little breath he hadn't known he was holding when Jean smiles back.

\---

They watch movies together. They catch each other for dinners every so often, exchange a text or two, and Armin feels like he's walking on clouds. Jean remembers how to smile, how to laugh, and their hands bump. 

\---

Their first kiss is an accident. They'd both had a little too much to drink and Jean offers to walk him home, shakily helping to steady him, when the heavens open up, letting loose a thousand years of rain. Armin laughs excitedly as he loops his arms around Jean's neck, grinning crookedly, and the brunette stares at him for the longest time before crushing their lips together. He tastes like beer and chapstick and something he couldn't quite place. He tangles his fingers into short, dual-toned hair as his eyelids flutters shut, and this feels a little like a movie. 

When they finally pull apart, they're both breathing a little heavier and Jean's eyes are glassy. 

"Uh, I live on the next block over," Armin blurts out and Jean just nods before he links their hands together, shivering a little in the cold. He can't help thinking that this feels so good. That this is what he's always wanted. 

Jean stays over and after dressing in some borrowed clothes, he passes out on the couch and Armin watches him with a longing expression as he feels a headache creeping in. He's much too sober for this, he thinks, staggering into the bedroom, and curls himself into a ball.

The next day, they play it off like nothing's happened and Armin wonders if he remembers. The brunette doesn't say anything, so he won't either. With a smile, he hands him a glass of water.

\---

It feels like they're walking through taffy to get to each other and Armin asks himself every day why he still does. He's lying on his kitchen floor, staring up at the fan as he thinks. Thinking is what he does. Thinking is what he _understands_. Jean is like a whirlwind, flinging him about here and there and Armin hates not being in control. He licks his lips and tastes him.

His heartbeat is steady and strong underneath everything and he closes his eyes.

\---

The second, third, and fourth kisses happen when they're both sober and clear-headed. He fits against Jean like a puzzle piece, fists his hands in a cotton tshirt, and kisses him like there's no tomorrow. He doesn't expect Jean to kiss back, but he does, and he's not sure if he wants this to happen or not, because there are too many things left unsaid between them, too many buried ghosts and skeletons in the closet, and he desperately hopes, wishes, prays that he's not just a replacement. His fingers brush over a silver band on the other's left hand and his heart feels like it's breaking. 

"Jean," he whispers against his lips and Jean murmurs his name back as he plays with his tie. " _Jean._ "

"Armin," Jean hums, kissing him again, and it feels like he's melting, because Jean is here, with him, solid and real under his palms. 

\---

The couch is a little narrow for this, but it's the last thing on Armin's mind as they fall, tangled limbs and mingled breaths, and all he can think about is how good Jean's hands feel. He moans when he feels the other begin to suck on his neck, nibbling gently, and he arches into it, fingers scrambling for purchase before pulling him up for another mind-blowing kiss. When they remember that they're creatures that need to breathe, they pull apart, a thin string between them, and Armin wipes his mouth, blushing. "Uh. Did you want something to, you know, drink?"

"Water would be nice," Jean says breathlessly, patting down his hair as he follows Armin into the kitchen, a slight smile dancing on his lips as he roots through drawers for the candy he knows is hiding somewhere. The blond pulls out a glass and fills it at the sink, the sound of water rushing reassuring and calm as he tosses a candy bar over. 

"I think I'm in love with you."

Jean doesn't respond, not even after a lengthy pause, and Armin's too scared to take the two steps to close the distance between them when it feels like everything's just come crashing down.

"God, Jean, say something back," he begs, his voice breaking. He can hear his blood rushing, his heart frantic. Marco's heart frantic. It hurts. "Talk to me."

"Like what?" Jean doesn't look at him, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he worries his bottom lip between his teeth.

"Anything." He squeezes his eyes shut, inhaling deeply. His voice is a hoarse whisper and he sounds weaker than he'd like. "I'm baring my soul here to you, but you're not saying anything. Please."

"I don't know," he whispers and Armin doesn't even know what to feel anymore as he finally remembers to turn off the tab. The silence hangs heavily between them and Jean pushes himself off the counter, sighing heavily as he scratches the back of his neck. "I need more time."

He nods mutely as he watches the brunette leave, closing the door softly behind him, and then it's just him in his living room, kiss marks on his neck, feeling like the world's biggest idiot. He sinks to the floor, grabbing at his knees to anchor himself, and no, he's most definitely _not_ going to cry because he's not hung up like some high school girl, but something hot and wet pricks at his eyes. Armin's not going to play this game, he's not going to fall for something he knows won't catch him. So he slams a lid on this chapter of his life, glues it shut, pushes it back, and grabs a bottle of wine from the fridge, resting his cheek against the cool glass. The drink is bitter and biting as it goes down his throat and he whispers Jean's name over and over again to himself.

"Oh my god, I definitely love him."


	2. breathing out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! Thanks so much for all the support! 
> 
> As I was working on this chapter, I realized all these holes I left in chapter 1 and I tried to fill them in this chapter without being too lengthy, so hopefully this is an enjoyable conclusion!! I really enjoyed this verse though, so who knows? There may be more oneshots in this AU.
> 
> As always, you can find me on tumblr as dates-at-the-zoo! I'd love to hear your thoughts or any prompts you might have!

Marco's clothes are still in the closet, all freshly washed because Jean wears them, loves the familiar feel of worn cotton, and falls asleep in an old sweatshirt. A king sized bed is much too large for one person, he's discovered, and it's disorienting to wake up alone. The apartment feels empty and he runs his fingers over the chipped mug Marco always insisted on using.

He's horrified when he accidentally makes enough for two one night and he doesn't know what to do with the leftovers. It doesn't keep well in the fridge and he stares at the extra plate until it's gone cold. He pushes his food around listlessly before letting his fork clatter to the table. 

He's so tired of crying.

\---

Against his better judgement, he calls Armin and shakily asks him out for coffee. It's only been a few days since the wedding but he can't stop thinking about him. On the other end, the blond agrees breathlessly and he can just picture the smile on his face, his heart leaping. Their hands brush when they simultaneously reach for the door and Armin blushes, looking away, Jean has never felt so conflicted before in his life.

"Uhm, that was fun," Armin says before they part ways, a ridiculously sweet expression on his face, and Jean just nods.

"Yeah. It was."

"Let's do this again?" It's tentative, questioning, almost a little scared, but Jean wills himself to say yes. This is good for him, a small voice in his head says, and he tells the blond he'll meet him again next week for lunch. Armin's smile is dazzling.

He's easy to talk to. Jean expects himself to hate him, to blame him, but when he sees Armin, he can't. Instead, he lets himself go.

\---

He doesn't tell Armin, but he remembers everything about that night. Armin is captivating and Jean wills himself to think of Marco as he lays in bed that night, a pillow clutched to his chest, and it doesn't smell like him anymore. The pain is still there, like it was just yesterday that his freckled fiance had whispered good night to him. The last thing he sees before he falls asleep is a pair of blue eyes and when he wakes up, his face is wet. He shakes as he covers his face with his hands, scrubbing at his face with his palms because this wasn't ever supposed to happen.

\---

When Armin comes over, it feels off to let him sit in Marco's seat and when the blond gets up to wash the dishes, he feels like crying.

"Why can't I stop thinking about you?" He whispers, wrapping his arms around a thin waist that's so unfamiliar, burying his face into blond locks, and he finally lets the tears fall. The other just turns around and holds him until he's stopped shaking, tangling their fingers together and he hears his name before their lips press against each other messily. It feels wrong, holding a small body, leaning down to meet the kiss when he's used to tilting his head up just slightly. It's too easy to fall for him, he thinks, as he tastes him, tastes salt.

They curl up together on the couch underneath a thick blanket from the bedroom, because he's not quite ready to let him in, and Armin fits perfectly against him, murmuring sweetly into his shoulder. He runs his fingers through Jean's hair reassuringly, pressing gentle kisses all over his face and Jean is still crying, which is definitely not cool, but Armin doesn't seem to mind as their lips meet once more. And again. And again. This feels right.

"Jean," Armin sighs, fluttering his eyelashes against his cheek. 

"Armin," he replies, soft and unsure and scared. 

\---

It's startling, how fast he falls into a routine with Armin, how natural it seems to fit their hands together when they walk or how Armin's clothes smell like home. 

"Babe, you're gorgeous," he murmurs one night when they're watching a movie and Armin pauses it, turning around to let one hand stroke his cheek, a wondrous expression on his face.

"Yeah?" He asks, smiling as Jean pulls them together, one hand planted firmly on his hip, the other on his shoulder.

"Yeah," he breathes, kissing him. "You're so damn _beautiful_."

He knows this feeling by now, the butterflies in his stomach, the aching in his chest, and he slowly, slowly lets the walls he's built up tumble down. He can do this, he thinks, as Armin falls asleep in his arms, mumbling nonsensical syllables in his sleep. They can make this work.

Still, his world screeches to a halt when Armin tells him that he loves him. He stops thinking for a moment, nearly drops the chocolate in his hands. Somewhere inside of his head, a voice is screaming at him and he doesn't know what he should do anymore. The words hang in front of him like something he's trying to avoid and he can't do this.

He needs more time. He's not ready for this, not ready for what Armin means, what Armin wants. He's not ready to pack Marco's things away in cardboard boxes and send them off, not ready to feel another heart beat against his (it's the same heart, he tells himself), not ready for what this promises to be. He can still feel Armin's fingers tangled in his, small and smooth and everything Marco wasn't. 

"No, he's great, really. He's cute, he's funny, he's smart," he blurts out to Reiner over the phone. "It's just..."

"It's been months," his friend sighs and his voice is static and distant through the speakers. "This could be good for you. He could be good for you."

Jean misses Marco desperately.

\---

"I'm not asking you to forget him," Armin says, voice thick with tears when they finally meet up again, an awkward coincidence outside the supermarket, and Jean can't look him in the eye. "I'm just saying that maybe, maybe what we've got between us is good, that it's worth trying for. I like you, I _love_ you so damn much but I can't do this if you're going to keep pining for someone who's not even here anymore. I can't keep this up."

"Armin please, I just need more time," he begs, and he's not even sure why he's still trying to keep this going when he's the one messing everything up. He's the one breaking apart all the pieces that should fit, the one who refuses to move on, the one who can't see what's right in front of him, and he knows, deep inside, that he's going to regret it if he lets Armin walk away, but there's still a part of him that can't do it. "Armin. _Baby_."

"Don't call me that, Jean," Armin whispers, covering his face with his hands and Jean knows even without looking that he's crying. It hurts. "Please, oh god, please don't call me that."

"Armin," he says, whispers, just one more time, and Armin just turns around and walks away. He doesn't try to stop him.

\---

He's sprawled across the bed, a stack of wrinkled photographs in one hand, his phone in the other, and he's piss drunk beyond belief. If he's completely honest with himself, he doesn't remember the last time he was sober. It's been weeks since he last saw Armin and he's just so torn, so insecure without a familiar warmth snuggled securely at his side.

"Armin," he drawls into the mouthpiece and there's no response for a few heart wrenching moments. " _Armin_ , are you there?"

"Are you alright?" Comes the soft reply and he whimpers, pressing the small device against his ear.

"I need you, babe. I need you right now."

"I told you not to call me that." Armin's voice sounds like it's breaking and Jean wonders why the room is spinning. He groans, closing his eyes as he rolls onto his stomach.

"Baby, Armin, please." He hiccups once before planting his face into a pillow and the cool touch of the fabric brings him back to his senses. Somewhat. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," Armin cries, muffled sobs echoing from the speaker. "I'm so sorry."

"But you didn't do anything wrong," he murmurs, thoroughly confused when the other just continues to cry. "Armin... Don't cry. Are you ok? Do you want me to come over?"

"No," Armin gasps. "Don't come over right now."

"I want to see you. I want to kiss you and touch you and hear you say my name. I want to go to bed with you, want to wake up with you. I want you to be next to me."

There's another pause and Jean wonders if it would be a good idea, imagines the look on Armin's face if he drove over right now. If he pounded on his door until he was let in, if he kissed him. 

"Call me when you're sober, Jean. I can't do this right now."

"Babe, don't hang up -"

But the line is already dead and Jean is fast asleep in a matter of seconds.

\---

He knows, deep down inside, that he's being unfair. That he's still hanging on, as if one day he'll wake up and Marco will be next to him, wearing one of his shirts and nothing else, or maybe making pancakes and burning toast. 

He wonders if Armin prefers pancakes or waffles as he shoves all of Marco's things to the back of his closet before he changes his mind. He thinks of the way he smiles, the way he laughs, the secretive whispers and how he kisses all shy and sweet where Marco had been assertive and calm, no matter what. He remembers the time Marco had pulled him aside in the middle of a crowded street and kissed him, just like that. 

Jean takes off his ring, stares at it, and puts it back on. He's seen the way Armin looks at it, the scrunched up face he makes like he's about to cry, and he takes it off again, kissing it. 

He hates himself for not knowing what he wants.

\---

He shows up at Armin's doorstep with an armful of white lilies and when the door opens, he swears he sees a flash of fear over the other's face.

"Hey."

"Hello." 

"I just wanted to give you these," he says, handing them off gently before he pulls back. Armin stares at the flowers, dumbfounded for a moment, before he smiles gently and Jean can see the tears in his eyes. "So..."

"You're an idiot, Jean Kirstein," Armin whispers, burying his face into the bouquet. "A big, fat idiot."

"I know," he groans, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "I'm finally sober for the first time in weeks and all I get you are some shitty flowers."

"I can't compete with Marco."

"That's... God, Armin, that's not what this is about. You're different than Marco. You're here. And I mean, I want you. I need you. I'm all messed up, all broken and crap inside, and if that's what you want, then here I am. Give me a chance, alright? I fucked up. I fucked up bad, Armin, but I've been thinking a lot and -"

"Don't think too hard, you'll hurt yourself," Armin chokes out shakily, laughing through his tears. He lets the flowers fall as he reaches out to grab onto his jacket, pale hands clutching at worn leather, and Jean doesn't know what he's thinking when he leans down to kiss him like it's the end of the world. Maybe it _is_ the end of the world. "Just tell me again that I'm the one you want."

"It has to be you," he sighs into the kiss, pressing Armin up against the door. 

\---

Armin has a sweatshirt that's just the right size for him that smells like sunshine and old books. It's warm and comfortable and safe when he wears it and he loves the way small hands look clutched in his. He's sitting on the old couch he picked up with Marco at a garage sale, idly playing with his phone as Armin takes forever and a day to get ready. 

The blond appears in the doorway, dressed in a pair of tight fitting jeans and one of Jean's shirts, and Jean smiles, pulling him into his lap. He looks good in red and the collar is loose.

"Where did you get that?" He teases, lightly tickling the other, who squirms restlessly, swatting at him playfully. 

"Oh, I don't know. Found it on the floor - thought it was a rag at first. When was the last time you did laundry? Last year?"

Jean just laughs and kisses him. It's funny, how people always talk about losing their breath or forgetting how to breathe, because Jean feels like he's finally learned how to breathe again.

\---

He keeps the ring in a box that sits on his bedside table. The skin underneath is smooth and pale among the tan he got from a beach date with Armin, who rubs his thumb over the tanline before lifting up his hand to press a kiss to it. 

"Does it bother you?"

"A bit, I guess," Armin sighs, mulling over his words carefully. "More like I'm jealous though."

"Don't be jealous, silly. There's nothing to be jealous of," Jean chastizes gently, nuzzling him. 

Armin frowns but lets up as Jean begins to kiss him, more insistently this time. He sighs softly when Jean begins to unbutton his shirt, shivering when a cold hand reaches underneath the fabric to trace the scars on his chest. When Jean's fingers still, he looks up and touches his cheek knowingly. "Does it bother you?"

"A little," Jean whispers, pulling him close. "But it's okay."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Really."

Armin's body is small and lithe underneath his, pale where Marco's had been tan, and his heartbeat is strong and steady. Jean drops kisses wherever he can reach, sighing when Armin wraps his arms around him, arching his back into him as he cries out his name over and over again like a string of wishes. 

\---

He's still scared, but Armin asks to visit Marco, so he buys a bouquet of orange daisies and is quiet the whole ride there. Armin holds his hand as he lays the flowers over the headstone and whispers something under his breath. He stares at it for a moment, because maybe the words will change and that won't be Marco lying there, but he knows, so he makes to leave. 

Armin is still squatting by the grave, talking as if Marco's right there, an old friend, and then he leans forward and kisses the stone, smiling. "I'm gonna take good care of him," Jean hears him say, and he throws himself at Armin.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Armin asks lightly, running his hands up and down his back soothingly. "You alright? Jean?"

"Nothing, it's just... You..."

"I?"

"Never mind."

"What?! You can't just start a sentence and then end it like that. Tell me, tell me!" Armin is leading him towards the car, their hands linked, and it feels like his chest is a thousand pounds lighter when he's pulled into the backseat with a searing kiss. He leans back when he finally needs to breathe, and he laughs. 

"What I'm trying to say is, maybe I love you too."


End file.
